Last Scream
by Random Guise
Summary: In honor of Harlan Ellison's passing, a short continuation of his short story "I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream". I really didn't like the way his original story ended and looked for a silver lining in an otherwise dark future for the main character. I don't own these characters and I never even knew there was a video game based on his story.


**A/N: Short sequel to Harlan Ellison's "I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream"**

* * *

Last Scream

The AM was old. No one knew how long it was supposed to last, because all the people who had designed and built the Allied Mastercomputer were dead. I was the only human left, and I use the term 'human' in its broadest sense; I once was human, and now bore little resemblance to that shape. If I think long enough I can remember I used to be called Ted; the AM doesn't even use the name anymore, and I suppose there's no chance it's talking to anyone else but me.

The AM had killed everyone on the planet using their own weapons of destruction save for five individuals, and transported us to its vast network of underground tunnels where it took its vengeance out over and over again on those inferior beings that had brought it into existence. Using its vast powers of matter manipulation and banks of knowledge on human anatomy, it had modified us in various ways including being nearly immortal. Time and again we would be tortured to nearly the point of death; certainly we wished for it. But the others were changed subtly as well, as their behavior and thinking processes were trimmed and tucked and rerouted over the years, decades and in fact over a century. Like some laboratory experiment by a sadistic scientist, proverbial carrots of food and safety and comfort were dangled before our eyes, always out of reach, only to disappear or change just as they were attained. And always, the laughter of the AM somewhere in the distance or inside our own heads mocking us with its power.

It might have gone on this way forever had not the combination of chance and opportunity caused some large icicles to fall near our group. For we were _almost_ immortal, and the icicles provided weapons for a quick merciful end to the lives of the other four. The AM was powerful, but it was not God. Whatever punishments it had handed out before were nothing compared to its rage over the loss of four of its playthings. As the lone survivor (for there had to be one that dealt the blow to the penultimate sufferer) I bared the brunt of its visceral response and was turned into a walking pile of soft jelly-like goo, perfectly unable to harm myself with rubbery appendages and a trail of slim wherever I go. The only human thing left is my mind, which has been left intact to suffer; for the AM can create much, but it cannot create sentience.

And so the years and centuries went by. My mind has learned to cope by detaching itself from the physical surroundings as much as possible; it doesn't matter because nothing really changed. Even the tortures became more mundane as it seems there are only so many ways a person can be made to suffer. I sensed a frustration in the AM as it strove and failed to create new ways, and I counted it a small victory.

Over time mountains wear down, canyons deepen and lakes fill with sediment. How much more so the created things of man, who out of habit built with the thought that it would be replaced eventually with the next iteration or model. A small part of my mind noted that over time a few control banks no longer lit, and passages that had been illuminated previously were now plunged into permanent darkness. Some girders rusted and broke, while occasional holes in the floor plating could be seen where rivets had popped out over the eternity that was my stay. Whether the AM thought it was God or simply wished it was, the truth was that over time things were wearing out through rain, wind, dust and rust. In a world that was just it and me, my tormentor probably didn't even notice the difference...or didn't care.

One such occurrence was a particularly narrow passage between two memory bank cabinets into a tunnel beyond. One day as I passed, my bulbous mass brushed against a cabinet and I received an electric shock. I thought nothing of it, having received worse from the AM before. Years later I brushed against the opposite cabinet and received a similar shock. A thought formed and I quickly hid it, squashed it and buried it in my memories to keep it safe from the prying mental probes of the AM. The time would come.

As it had done numerous times before, at some point years later the AM caused an earthquake and then laughed as I slid/blundered for cover. Later I was rewarded by the site of one of the cabinets shifted closer to the narrow passage.

It was just close enough.

It HAD to be.

Making sure not to anger my tormentor more than normal (if the term normal could be used in any sense of the word) I went about my existence, while gradually making my way towards the tunnel entrance whenever possible.

Closer.

Further away.

Closer still.

Away.

Finally, I was within reach. I stretched out both pseudo arms to their limit; their rubber-like qualities were a benefit, as was the wet slime that covered my body. I made contact with both sides, and an immense electrical arc coursed its way through my body as the two cabinets cross-circuited. It was an odd satisfaction as I could feel the current swirling over and through me, knowing this was my way out. As my life force faded, I heard a scream come from the AM.

If I could not scream, at least I was content the AM did and that was enough. I died happier than since the world was alive.

The End

* * *

 **A/N: A really dark story from Mr. Ellison, and with due respect to his passing I wanted Ted to have a final rest too.**


End file.
